


sharp jagged edges

by Fionnbhair



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Gen, non graphic scenes of torture, the star wars au no one asked for but i'm providing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-11 20:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5640898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fionnbhair/pseuds/Fionnbhair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a galaxy far far away, the Republic surrendered to Separatist leaders and ended the Clone Wars.  Empress Celene sits as a figurehead for the new Empire with the devious Sith leader Fen'Harel guiding her hand.   A half-trained Force sensitive and a smuggler ("a smuggler with connections" as he likes to remind everyone) sit in a bar and wait for one of the galaxy's last peacekeepers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a civilization built on constellations

**Author's Note:**

> this au is, for now, discontinued. i'm currently editting and posting what i have written for now. in the future, i will probably return to this but for now my interest in dragon age in general has soured.

“Will he show?” asked Varric. He raised his glass up to his eyes and swirled it slowly, tracking the shimmer of the liquid. Didn’t know what it was, seemed to not be dangerous to humans at least. His companion hummed, sunk deep in her chair and nursing her bottle of, something. Whatever she’d ordered hadn’t been in basic. “Hawke?” 

“Well what? Would you come if someone left you a note on your door?” asked Hawke. She lifted her bottle and drained it, mostly for pretense. She was already filtering the alcohol out of her system, an unbreakable habit like rising in time for Bandomeer’s dawn no matter where she was. Just another thing to thank her da for. 

“No. I’ve already hired people to track down and kill people who try to do that,” said Varric, somewhere between joking and serious. Being on the bank account of a senator was useful like that (especially when your brother was too busy making “important decisions” to notice the withdrawal, doubly so when your brother’s account manager owes you.) 

“Well we’re in luck then, because this Justice is dirt poor as far as the General knows,” said Hawke. She shifted in her seat, drawing up slowly. She felt something on the edges of her awareness, almost like coming home for the first time in years. “He’s here.” 

“I don’t see him,” murmured Varric, dropping his glass onto the table. “You’d think, you know, that a tall blonde human would stand out in this place.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” said Hawke. Varric watched as she stared down a hooded figure hovering near the entrance and gave them a jaunty wave. He trusted Hawke’s judgement, but there was something wrong with their gait. Could be something suspicious, could be a vet from the War. 

“Are you the ones who thought it’d be a good idea to leave me a letter on my clinic?” snapped the figure. They threw down the plast, not caring if it landed in Varric’s drink. Wasteful. The voice seemed masculine, hopefully they had the right man. 

“That depends, are you Justice?” asked Hawke. She fished the ‘plast out of the mess on their table and slipped it away in her pocket, no need to leave anything behind. 

“I haven’t gone by that name in a long time, what do you want,” said Justice, the ending flat. Less of a question and more of a man temporarily giving in. 

“For now? We want you to sit down,” said Varric. He gestured grandly at the chair across the table. “You’re drawing unwanted attention.” 

“Just like leaving me a note on my door drew unwanted attention,” said Justice, though he did drop into the chair. He crossed his ankle over his knee, resting his hand there. It was the same leg that was causing his weird gait, the war vet story was actually true, in a way. It could’ve just been an old injury acting up. Or it could’ve been a lightsaber.

“You’ve already been drawing attention, Justice,” argued Hawke. “We know that the Imperial presence is a recent development but there’s already some chatter about a mysterious healer and his clinic.” 

“Kriff,” sighed Justice. “The increased patrols, I should’ve noticed.” 

“Probably,” agreed Varric. It was a dangerous slip, especially for a man like Justice. “We aren’t here to discuss your clinic or the new attention it’s receiving.” 

“Please, just get to the point,” said Justice. He waved his hand towards them. “There’s a new outbreak, I have a lot to do.” 

“Alright,” said Hawke, nodding. She pushed her hair out of her face briefly, letting it flop back down. “In short? General Surana is putting out a call, she wants everyone she can get out of retirement.” 

“Is that what they’re calling it?” laughed Justice, short and bitter. “I’m not surprised that Surana survived, she was one of the best Jedi in the Order.” 

Hawke grimaced, retirement definitely was a rough way to put it. She rubbed the red mark across her face, a tell she’d been working to get rid of for too long. 

“Sorry, I know it’s,” she drew up short, lacked the words to describe. Even half trained and half out of her mind, she’d felt the purges. She drew on the ragged edges of her confidence and pressed on, “I know it’s been a nightmare, but this is it. The general needs as much help as she can get, there’s some new blood.” 

“How?” asked Justice. He leaned forward, his hood slipping forward until only his mouth and jaw remained within sight. “I thought, when Surana changed the beacon, that we were practically gone. It felt like we were gone.” 

“Trained Jedi? It...looks that way. We’re still responding to a lot of rumors right now,” shrugged Hawke, this was their third stop in response to a rumor. “How much do you know about the Corps?”

“Just what they teach in the creche, that’s it. Most temple Jedi don’t focus on the Corps at all,” clarified Justice. Hawke nodded, it sounded exactly like what her da had managed to tell her about temple Jedi. 

“There's a lot of survivors from the Corps, but there’s also a lot of people who leave the Corps eventually, like my da. We’ve been recruiting both of them, if we can.” 

“Along with any dissenters, like you,” interjected Varric with a tight smile. 

“Why me?”

“Because the general knows you and she knows that you’re a good teacher, we need that,” said Varric. 

“No fighting?” asked Justice, suspicious. It’d been a long time, perhaps too long, since the assistance of the Jedi was asked without it involving violence. Even with their destruction, he doubted that the trend would change. 

“The Alliance doesn’t force anyone to fight,” murmured Hawke. She slouched forward, letting her forearms rest against the table. “Too much to ask.” 

Justice sighed and lowered his hood finally, eyes tight and jaw sharp, “I bet you wouldn’t mind having another fighter, though.” 

“Of course we wouldn’t,” said Hawke. She felt a tremor, tilting her head at practically the same time as Justice, but she continued on. “We always need fighters, but we also need teachers.” 

“We’ve heard rumors,” said Varric slowly, not wanting to discuss this but they had agreed on full disclosure. The Jedi deserved to know everything, it was the least they could offer him. “Rumors of a new Sith apprentice. We don’t know who they could be, yet. If they’re a former Jedi or if they’re coming out of the woodwork, like Mythal and Fen’Harel.” 

“Those two didn’t come out of the woodwork,” muttered Justice, probably not intending for the two to hear. That was certainly surprising, to say the least. He continued at a louder volume, “Are you sure?” 

Hawke opened her mouth to respond, about to admit that she believed she had met the Sith, when the emergency broadcast system went off. All three of them tensed. Hawke palmed a knife. She felt something in the force, saw Justice’s eyes slide closed, but had no clue. And then, a familiar voice rang out.

“This is not a test,” said Fen’Harel. Hawke swung towards the only screen in the bar, luckily having a clear line of sight. Fen’Harel, high general of the Separatist forces, filled the screen and almost blocked out the hooded figure next to him. He hadn’t changed much since the specials they released at the end of the war. Still bald, still smug, still standing in that militaristic stance. “This is a message. A message to all remaining Force sensitives and those harboring them: the reward for turning in any information about Force sensitives has tripled.” 

“Shit,” breathed Varric. Hawke agreed. That was, for any correct information at all, enough credits to fund someone for years. Justice wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing. 

“There is more. The Empress feels as though she has not been forgiving enough. The Empire is willing to accept any Force sensitives that wish to turn themselves in peacefully. Turn yourself in, you’ll be put through training and receive a fitting position within the Empire. Many of you will be doubtful, and with good reason of course. I hope that my new apprentice will be able to convince you. Inquisitor,” said Fen’Harel gesturing to the figure next to him. 

Hawke grimaced, feeling a bitter taste settle in her mouth. Their list of survivors wasn’t complete but she was fairly certain that none of them would do this, none of them would turn themselves over to the Empire. At least, she was certain none of them would do it without the offer that Fen’Harel just handed out. And then the hood dropped. 

“She wasn’t on the survivor list,” muttered Varric. His hand clenched around his glass. 

“She wouldn’t be,” responded Justice, grimacing. “Did you notice how she dropped out of the media towards the end of the war?”

“Yeah. Out here we just assumed that she was doing something covert, the Herald was, is, always flexible,” said Hawke. She leaned back and crossed her arms.

“No,” corrected Justice. He rubbed a hand against his temple, looking years older. “She went missing, along with all of her troops and several other generals. That’s when the war turned.” 

“Sith,” said Hawke, both a curse and a reason. 

Justice offered her a brittle smile and said nothing. He turned away from the screen and hunched over, drawing into himself. The Her-the Inquisitor was still talking on the screen but Hawke and Justice ignored her. “I’ll help,” he murmured. 

“Thank you, Master Justice,” said Hawke, bowing her head. 

Justice flinched, “please, call me Anders.” 

“You don’t need to stay any longer,” offered Hawke, the only kindness she could give him. “We can just meet you later, go over the details in your clinic.” 

“Well, you know where it is,” said Anders. He pushed away from the table and stood, towering over the two of them. 

Hawke watched as he pushed his way out of the bar, aggressively shoving anyone who was too busy watching the feed to notice him. Her eyes drifted back over to Varric who was viciously taking notes. At his motion for her to wait, she settled back down in her chair. 

“Do you think he’ll actually come with us?” she asked, eyes half closed and unfocused. She wasn’t exactly feeling that he would, but she didn’t feel that he wouldn’t, like they were balanced on the edge of a knife. 

“I’m not the one with the weird Jedi shit, that’s you.” 

Hawke hummed, one of her father’s old excuses for getting out of something came to mind, “Clouded, the future is.”


	2. because i do not hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one where we meet the inquisitor and fen'harel does a few horrible things

Imperial Center, Coruscant 

The Inquisitor stood silently next to her master, their voices echoing in the chamber. She stared directly into the camera from under her hood, following her master’s speech, waiting her turn. When he gestured towards her, she stepped forward and removed her hood. 

“He’s right,” she said, loud and calm. The Inquisitor almost grimaced. What a way to bring in the new empire by using her press conference voice from the war. “The Empire will accept anyone who wants to come home. Our home is clean and safe. All you have to do is submit to the re-training that’s meant to teach us how to exist in peacetime again. 

I know that I have been gone for a long time, and that many of you will doubt us. Know that just because you did not see me did not mean that I was not there helping our former cause. However, it was my new master, Fen’Harel, who saved me at the end of the war. He stepped in, stopped a separatist general from executing myself and my entire command. He’s, we’re offering the same to you. The temple doors will always be open to you, should you be willing to accept the Empire.” 

With her speech finished, the Inquisitor stepped back behind Fen’Harel. His pleasure curled in the force, mixing violently with her own disquiet. When she had accepted his terms, she hadn’t considered the fact that they would use her as a public figure in the Empire. A fool’s choice, but she’d had no choice in the end. The Inquisitor noted that the cameras were centered back on Fen’Harel again and grimly settled down to wait. 

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” said Fen’Harel, nodding towards her. His pleasure viciously spiked in the force before everything, his countenance and force presence, smoothed back over. “Finally, as an ending to this broadcast, the our Imperial presence is spreading. We have overcome the last of the resistence to be found within the Mid-Core sectors. For those who have an economic presence within those sectors, be ready to swap to Imperial standards or face the consequences. This is Fen’Harel, advisor to the Empress, signing off. May the reach of our Empire never falter.” 

The Inquisitor sighed when the broadcast finished, rolling her shoulders. She pulled off cloak and was in the middle of folding it when Fen’Harel called for her attention. “Yes, master?”

“Inquisitor,” he said, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. The Inquisitor grimaced. “Would you prefer that I call you Ellana, my apprentice?” 

“No,” said Ellana. She wasn’t an initiate fresh out of the creche, looking to make a connection with her new master. The creche that would never exist again. No, Ellana that isn’t the path to go down. “I’d prefer if you refer to me by my title whenever necessary.” 

“Which title? Inquisitor or, maybe, the Herald who deserted the Republic and left them to burn?” 

Ellana snarled, shoving her rage into the force. The dark side was only a one trick pony (at least, so far whispered the part of her that had once loved to frequent the Archives), but it was a useful trick. Speed enhanced, she tried to barrel directly into Fen’Harel, snapping and spitting at him, “Maybe I should be calling you Solas.” 

Fen’Harel laughed and neatly sidestepped her lunge. “I expect more from you, my apprentice.” 

She snarled, wordless in her rage, and attempted to lunge towards him again. Mid-lunge, Ellana heard the hiss of a lightsaber engaging, rage bleeding into shock and despair. Shock and despair transformed under the burn of the saber, stretching across her side. She hit the floor and rolled, fibers from her tunics digging into the burn.

“Inquisitor, I am deeply disappointed in you,” said Fen’Harel standing over her. “In your rage, you forget everything. You forget that you possess two lightsabers, you do not heed the warnings of the Force, and you forget who I am.” 

Ellana watched warily as he knelt down next to her. He was close enough, she could probably reach out and dig her thumb into his eye and push, push, push. But she didn’t, as he knew she wouldn’t. The first lesson, at the hands of all of her masters, was always about resisting the urge to take the obvious opening. Little, bitter, and angry Ellana resented those lessons the most (which he knew as well). 

Fen’Harel smiled at her. He looked like a benevolent master leaning down to help his padawan, if you ignored the glowing yellow gaze and the unlit lightsaber pointed towards her. “Your thought process is a pleasure to follow, as always. It makes me wish we had more time, so that I could follow those thoughts down into your psyche again.” 

Ellana tensed. She hadn’t had time, on purpose most likely, to rebuild her shields but she’d thought, she’d hoped that he wouldn’t. She flinched back when Fen’Harel reached out towards her, felt the skin around her burn pull. 

“I could leave you on this floor to deal with your burn on your own,” said Fen’Harel. He tilted his head, still smiling,” you might even be able to draw upon the Force enough to heal it yourself. Or, I could heal you myself. After all, I am feeling forgiving like the Empress.” 

“Sith can’t heal,” rasped Ellana. 

“My dear apprentice, there is a lot you do not know about the Sith,” said Fen’Harel. 

Ellana felt the Force gathering around them, felt Fen’Harel directing it down towards her wound and then nothing. Nothing but agony as her cells were forced to die and be reborn, the energy taking the quickest route possible to close her wound. Her master smiled over her as she writhed and screamed, the entire experience lasting maybe seconds. 

Fen’Harel ended the forced healing and moved his hand down to dig into her arm instead. He demanded her full attention. “Inquisitor.” 

Ellana made a weak noise, sucking in as much air as she could. When Fen’Harel’s fingers dug deeper into her arm, she managed to ask, “Master?” 

“I have a mission for you and your cohort, a two-fold mission. It is a mission that cannot be completed by any other, which is unfortunate in light of your recent disappointment,” Fen’Harel trailed off, blatantly waiting for an apology from his apprentice. 

She did not disappoint, “I apologize for my digression, master.” 

“Very well.” Fen’Harel let go of her arm and pushed himself to a standing position. “Your mission is simple. You will enforce Imperial will within the Mid-Core sectors while also using your associates to expand our information network. Your budget is unlimited so long as you get results.” 

Ellana slowly pushed herself into a kneeling position, her head down in proper supplication. “Your will will be done, my master.” 

Above her, Fen’Harel laughed. “It is not my will, it is the will of the Empress. Do try to not forget that, Inquisitor.” 

She nodded, her mind already racing through who remained in her cohort and their talents. Perhaps it was time to call in a favor from the Bull, surely he owed her one for Durge. Between her talents, the Bull and Cullen, it would be easy. 

“Overconfidence is dangerous, my apprentice,” warned Fen’Harel. She heard more than saw as he walked away from her. However, he paused to address the droids waiting in the wings, “Do not help her. You can continue your tasks when the Inquisitor has decided that she no longer needs use of this room.”

But he didn’t leave her alone without one final remark, “May the force be with you, Inquisitor.” 

Ellana spent several long minutes resting on the floor, her mind stretched out and frayed. She tried to meditate, humming under her breath yet tranquility evaded her. Without meditation to ground her, her aggression was rerouted into planning out her mission. It was with a choked off curse that she rose from the floor, muscles creaking and protesting. Yet it was with pride that she walked out of the room, tall and strong, a Sith’s apprentice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the title for this chapter and the next come from the poem ash wednesday by t s eliot


	3. because i do not hope to turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one where we continue to follow the inquisitor as she plots

Imperial Center, Coruscant

Ellana stumbled into her quarters. She ached, ached worse than she had at the end of months long sieges, ached for in places that she couldn’t reach or treat. Instead of bothering to try, she pressed a few buttons on her comm. 

“Bull, I need to see you,” said Ellana when the connection went through. She cut the call, knowing that he was nearby and that he wouldn’t ignore her. The comm was dropped on a table as she disrobed in silence, down to her inner tunics and leggings when the door opens. 

“I always thought that the Jedi wore too many layers, boss,” said Bull. He watched her from the doorway. He was still kitted out in full armor. His armor was the only concession he received from the Imperial army, along with any of his remaining brothers. Stay and you got to keep the armor. Leave and, well, hadn’t the Empire already proved that they were adept at handling traitors?

His eyes raked down her body, an unimpressed look settling across his face. Ellana bristled, posture defensive. She opened her mouth to snap at him and remembered, almost too late, the age old game they’d played during the war. Insult your commanding officer, give her a chance to blow off some steam, and pray that it was enough. 

“I’m not a Jedi anymore,” said Ellana, gesturing that he should come closer. 

Bull ambled towards her, steps measured. He stepped into her personal space, forcing her to tilt her head back to look at him. He clasped her shoulder, grinning. “Ma’am, didn’t the Outer Rim teach us that we shouldn’t lie to each other? I remember someone collapsing because she,” 

“Bull,” sighed Ellana. She slumped slightly. “Please don’t.” 

He grunted, giving way for now. There’d been jokes in his company that Bull had to be the most stubborn brother created. The only ARC captain to make it through the entire war, a special type of stubborn that got him named Bull instead of choosing it. “What do you need?” 

Ellana shook her head, slipping her arm out of his grasp and grabbing his wrist instead. She quietly lead them out of the room and out onto the balcony. She’d learned, they’d all learned, that nothing was safe in the Center, not in this building. Truly not on the planet. Outside, the wind whipped around the two of them. It raised bumps along her body, fighting down the leftover heat from her horrible attempt at killing her master. 

“Do you think he purposefully chose this room for its view?” asked Bull. Ellana glanced over at him, he was leaning on the railing and staring out. Straight at the former Jedi Temple. 

“Does he ever do anything without thinking it through?” she countered. Bull didn’t respond. He almost believed that Fen’Harel hadn’t intended to let any of them live, that he would’ve killed them all, if it hadn’t been for the Herald, but he kept quiet. 

“Alright, boss. It’s cold out here, let’s get this out of the way,” said Bull. He turned towards her, waiting. “What do you need?” 

“My Master wants us to go out into the Mid-Core,” said Ellana. She started slowly, building herself up for what she was going do. “Two-fold, enforcing Imperial law and creating an information network.” 

“That’s grunt work,” said Bull, expertly getting across his disdain. He wasn’t built for grunt work, and in his opinion, neither was his General. 

“It is,” agreed Ellana. She grimaced, almost anyone under Fen’Harel’s control could have done the assignment. It didn’t take any special talent to make people bend under an iron fist or set agents under those fists as well. “I have a request, it isn’t mandatory.” 

“General, Ellana, if I wasn’t willing to do anything for you, I wouldn’t be here right now.” 

“I need you to head the information network,” said Ellana. She paused, waiting for Bull to disagree. They both knew that neither of them liked working without each other, too many close calls that could’ve been avoided if they’d had each other’s backs. But this was, this was more important, so she continued on past his complaints. “I know, you don’t like this and neither do I. But I need you, specifically. I need you to head it and report directly to me.” 

“Why?” asked Bull. His interest was piqued. This was more like the General he knew during the war and less like the wraith that haunts these halls. “I’m not exactly trained to be a spymaster, boss.” 

“I want, no, I need someone to make sure that information only passes through me. A network without any leaks,” said Ellana. It would be almost impossible for most but she needed this, a little edge over Fen’Harel. 

“And where exactly am I finding this information?” 

At this, Ellana looked uncomfortable. She breathed out, knowing that this was a true test of how loyal Bull was to her. If he wasn’t, if she reported the wrong information, well, she’d see how far she could push Fen’Harel’s patience. 

“Your brothers.”

“General Lavellen,” snapped Bull

“I know, I know,” sighed Ellana. “That’s why I said this is mandatory, it won’t change my opinion of you if you refuse.” 

A lie, and they both knew it. The silence stretched between them, a grim hush. Ellana waited, giving Bull time to process everything before reaching out and laying a hand on his arm. He tensed under her, his jaw going taunt. 

“We ship out in a few days. You have time to make your decision,” murmured Ellana. She pulled her hand away from him and deliberately made sure that she didn’t touch him as she walked back into her quarters. She closed the door slowly, shutting out the remnants of her past: the Temple and Bull.


	4. teach us to sit still

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> varric flirts with anders, anders flirts back, hawke tries to not fight anyone (unsuccessfully)

Ord Mantell, Anders’s clinic. 

 

“I left the GAR because they wouldn’t let me keep my cat.” 

“Really?” asked Varric, eyeing him. “You don’t look like a cat owner.” 

“And what do cat owners look like?” asked Anders. He raised his voice as he leaned into the cabinet, rummaging around for something. 

“Not you.” 

Hawke smiled softly, looking down at her pad. “I didn’t know you were into teachers, Varric.” 

“Not usually, no,” said Varric. He crossed his arms and leaned back, his eyes on Anders. “I can always make exceptions.” 

Anders made a small noise as he pulled something out of the cabinet, straightening slowly. He shifted so that he was leaning on it instead and blew his hair out of his face. “Nice to know that I’m an exception.” 

Hawke laughed. “It helps that you can play nice and not kill us.” 

“Always the moodkiller, Hawke,” groused Varric. He shifted his weight, hand briefly falling to his blaster. 

“I didn’t know they taught professionalism in the Agricorps,” said Anders. He strode across the room and dropped his bounty, a cushion next to his pack. “Maybe I missed my calling.” 

“Mm, you didn’t miss much,” said Hawke. “After all, even the corps were pulled into the war at the end.” 

Anders opened his mouth to respond but he cut himself off when a Rodian slipped into the clinic. Hawke watched the newcomer, biting the inside of her cheek. She looked away, back down at the pad on her lap and the last message to come out of Coruscant. 

“What’s wrong Jovan?” asked Anders. He strode across the room, clothes billowing out behind him. How he’d managed to lay low for so long escaped Hawke, especially when he moved like that.

The Rodian, Jovan, pointedly looked at Varric and Hawke instead of responding. Hawke watched his hand shift towards something, probably a weapon. She considered putting down the pad, and ultimately refused. 

“It’s fine. They’re...new business associates,” said Anders, grimacing. 

“Anders,” began the Rodian lowly. “I hope you know what you’re getting into. Nothing good’s ever come from the Tethras family.” 

Varric shrugged when Anders glanced over at them, “It’s not like I can refute it, blondie.” 

“Blondie?” mouthed Hawke. 

“I do,” said Anders. 

“If you’re sure,” said Jovan. He grimaced and continued, “we might need them anyways. There’s news from one of the travel centers, someone’s coming out this way.” 

“Someone? Do we know who?” asked Varric. He rubbed a hand against his stubble, burying the urge to pray. He hoped, they all probably hoped, that it was just some kid senator sent out to the Mid Rim to get his feet wet. 

“No.” Jovan shook his head. “Whoever it is, they rate star destroyers.” 

Hawke swore. “Why the fuck are they sending a Star Destroyer out here? I thought they were all grounded at Coruscant.” 

“I don’t know,” said Jovan. “All I know is that there’s one headed out into the Mid Rim and that they’ve declared a stop on Order Mantell tomorrow.” 

“Thank you, Jovan,” said Anders. He pressed a hand against the Rodian’s shoulder and bowed his head. “Is there anything you need?” 

“I couldn’t possibly take anything from you, Anders,” said the Rodian, shaking his head. He backed away from the former master. “I need to get home. I just stopped by to make sure that you knew.” 

“Thank you for the information. It’ll be very useful,” said Varric. The Rodian nodded once more and left the clinic. Silence reigned in his absence, all of them caught in their own thoughts. 

“Well,” said Hawke. She placed her pad down and hopped off the table top. “We need to leave now.” 

“Can we?” asked Anders. “I’ve heard word about new Imperial protocols that forbid space travel.” 

“Yeah, we’ve heard about those too. The Empire’s so full of information leaks that they have to lock down worlds, keep people like us from bolting at last minute.” 

“What’s the worst they can do? I doubt the air control here would shoot us down,” said Hawke. She paused, tilted her head in a mockery of thinking and continued, “I doubt they could shoot us down.” 

“They’d try, at least, and probably mark down the ID we gave them,” said Varric slowly, considering it. “It’s a new one, the General said she wanted us to keep it in use as long as possible.”   
“What’s one ID to making sure that we have another Jedi master?” 

“Does the Jedi master get to voice his opinion?” asked Anders. He was frowning, unimpressed. 

“Didn’t he just do it?” Hawke shot back, somewhere between joking and aggressive. She liked the man, truly. Liked him about as much as she liked most force sensitives but the situation was grating on her. 

“My priority is the people,” snapped Anders. 

Hawke bit down on her tongue, trying to hold back any comments. She was aware enough to know that she was leaking anger and bitterness into the Force like it came from a wound, but that was easier than saying she wanted to. 

“Calm down, both of you. Yes, you have a say, blondie. We know you have commitments here,” Varric paused, shooting Hawke a short look before staring down Anders. “Your presence might prompt the Empire to bringing their fist down on these people.” 

“Even if we leave now, I’d still obviously leave some sort of presence here. Some positive note in the force and in their memories.” 

“Start a fire and burn down your clinic,” suggested Hawke. She crossed her arms at their reactions. “Unreasonable, yes. But if you publicly start the fire, they won’t think of you as positively…” 

“Burn down their homes to save them?” laughed Anders, bitter and sharp. “Is this how the Resistance deals with problems?” 

“No, it’s how the Corps dealt with problems,” Hawke shot back. She sighed, waving a hand at Anders. “Sorry, listen, I know that was out of line but you need to make a decision now. I’ll go back to the ship and warm her up just in case. Varric can comm me when you make up your mind.” 

Anders opened his mouth, perhaps to apologize but Varric shook his head. Finally, after she had left the room, he asked, “Does she have a problem with me?” 

“Not you specifically, just…” Varric paused. There was something incredibly wrong about discussing your partner’s issues with a complete stranger, but here he was. Stuck between an angry half trained Force sensitive and a fully trained Force sensitive, two hard places. “Deserters in general.” 

“You know,” said Anders, wry and understanding. “This really doesn’t make me want to work with you more, but I am a man of my word.”   
“That was never in question, blondie.” 

“Of course it wasn’t. I think, we should take her advice about leaving,” said Anders. He shouldered his pack, briefly smiling at the nickname. 

“Let me guess, we aren’t going to burn down your clinic though?” 

“No, that would be…,” Anders trailed off. That it would be too much like the war was left unsaid. 

Varric nodded and commed Hawke, “I hope you got her warmed up for us, Hawke.” 

“Warmed up and ready to go,” confirmed Hawke. At the very least, she sounded better and less likely to try to get into a fight with their cargo. That was good, and the most he’d ever ask of her.

**Author's Note:**

> No one asked for this, literally no one sat down and told me that Solas would be a Sith but here we are. For now this will probably remain a one shot, I have some idea about where I want it to go but no path to get there. 
> 
> hmu@transhepard on tumblr if you wanna talk shop.


End file.
